West-End Boys (Naïve Mistakes)

by Rachel Dunning

  "Please, elaborate," I said, a little lost.

  "Simply put: Dirty cops make a deal with a drug-dealer—Raphael. The dealer gives them info on the big-boss above that drug-dealer and the dirty cops look all sparkly and clean and shiny to their peers and even to their superiors when they bust that drug boss. Part of the dirty deal is for the cops, secretly, to hand over a guy—Conall—to that same drug-dealer so he can hold him up for ransom to his family and make millions or billions from it. Of course, when the drug-dealer does hold up the billionaire for ransom, the same dirty cops on the case will be informing the family that 'paying the ransom is the best possible solution if you ever want to see your son alive again' and then those dirty-cops also get a cut of that money. That billionaire, of course, is not found alive after all."

  My stomach dropped. "Gee, thanks."

  "Leora, there is a silver lining, so that's why maybe I'm a little nonchalant about it all."

  "Pray tell."

  "One second."

  Oh, God. I sat back and waited for the next anvil to drop on my head.

  "Next thing: Those guys who took you..."

  "Let me guess," I said, "they were actually feds?"

  "Um, no. But they were being paid by someone official, someone with something to hide. Someone so scared that Conall would release the information he had that they had you taken in the hopes he would come after you like some Lone Ranger and get himself killed. Of course, only after he paid a hefty ransom for you. Now, in those days, Conall hadn't connected the dots yet. Yet, even then, whoever was dirty at the top, was already afraid of him. Now that he has connected them, they're terrified. They will stop at nothing.

  "Fortunately, little did that person know that Conall also had friends in high places. No one knew about me. No one. Well, they didn't before they took you, Leora. Probably now they do. Back then it was our saving grace. The best damn friendship Conall ever made in his life." He grinned pensively. "In other words, Leora, it's all connected. Your kidnapping. Vivienne. Conall's kidnapping—"

  My butt lifted off the seat! "He was kidnapped!"

  "Leora, he's safe! Please wait."

  That train came back, and I was plastered to the front of it again.

  "It's likely that this Raphael dude cut that dirty-deal I told you about, because there were a whole lot of drug busts in NYC just before Conall got taken! I mean, big names...

  "And then they took him. Took Conall. They were thugs, not cops, but it's certain there were dirty pigs behind them. And someone right at the top.

  "But we'd been prepared. He flicked a panic button on his phone the moment he was taken. I intercepted the incoming ransom call. We'd had GPS software in his briefcase as well. We had him out in thirty minutes." Trey smiled. "The Americans are not the only ones with operatives around the world. And, I confess, our own hands are not so clean either when it comes to spying on foreign nationals. But, damn, you gotta bet it's fucking hard staying undercover in the states. It's become like Nazi Germany there ever since nine-eleven!

  "But we got him out. Leora, understand me, they had no intention of keeping him alive. He's...he's pretty beat up."

  "Where is he?"

  "I'll take you there."

  "Did you know about this?" I asked Alex.

  "She had no idea, Leora. No one did. Only me and Conall." His gaze flicked quickly over to Brad.

  Kayla's face went red. She turned to him. "You!? You knew!?" She punched him. Slammed her fists against his arms and pummeled him.

  "Hey, baby!"

  "Not exactly," said Trey. "But he wasn't fully in the dark."

  Kayla continued to go Israeli Army on the poor guy. Brad eventually got sick of it and pinned her down on the ground. She got out of the lock and started kicking him. She was about to land a foot in his nuts when she stopped abruptly and said, "Shit, I can't do that. You might need to make up damage to me later tonight."

  Brad sighed in relief.

  Trey continued. "Brad didn't know the half of it. But he was briefed on what to do in case he got word from me that he was to get you all out of here and bring you to the safe-house. All he knew was that Conall's trip to the states was more than what he made it out to be on the surface. I would've had him bring you over, but I was too afraid they're tracking Conall's car now. So, here I am."

  "Oh," said Kayla, her hand to her mouth. "So, you didn't know. Sorry, babe."

  "Let's institute a 'questions first, fire later' policy in our relationship. OK, babe?" he said.

  "Trey, please," I pleaded, "take me to him."

  "That's why I'm here, Leora. I'm sorry to say, but you need to go into hiding. All of you."

  "Hiding?"

  "Conall's been back for a week. He got the evidence he needed today. He not only knows who those two guys were, the ones in Hyde Park, but he also knows more. He knows how to take down the guy at the top. He always knew it in his gut, but never had the proof for it. Now he does. Our guy in the states came through, got us the info we needed just a few hours ago. Conall's only option is to go to the press now. It's too big to sit on anymore. It's been done before, taking down a giant, alone. News of the World and stuff. Even the Goliaths can be taken down by one man.

  "But the cat's out of the bag. They probably know he knows. And this isn't some organized crime mob working out of a basement, Leora. A lot of big heads will roll when this thing goes public. I need to get you all off the grid, fast. That means all cell phones off, and we go in my car because it's the only damn thing I'm sure moves without being traced around here. Pack nothing. We leave right away. Let's go!"

  His voice was so commanding that we got up instantly.

  And then I fell to the ground.

  There'd been a deafening bang. And a blinding flash of painful white light inside the lounge.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  -1-

  The concussive explosion had been so loud and deafening that all I remember is me crouched down on the ground with my hands covering my ears.

  They call them flash-bangs, grenades designed to disorient you because of their sound and which blind you with their brightness. I was both blind and almost deaf. Then they threw in smoke grenades and the place looked like hell itself.

  I remember screaming, thinking my life was going to end, seeing the bright white light of the flash in my eyes even though they were now closed.

  I heard shots, windows smashing and men shouting. Then more shots. Trey shouted something but I didn't understand it. It all happened so fast and I was so out of it that the bullets sounded like deep explosions under water. Boom, boom, boom, boom.

  I heard Brad's voice, barely, shouting. More gunshots.

  And then there was my scream. High pitched and wailing. I heard that as well, but it didn't feel like I was the one uttering it.

  More bullets. Under water. Booooom.

  As if spoken from behind a wall or in another room, I heard Trey: "Brad, catch."

  Booooom. Boooom.

  "Over here over here over— Urgh!" A voice I didn't recognize.

  And screaming, now from my right. Alex. The screaming became more distant.

  Boom!

  Her screaming stopped.

  Trey: "It's OK. It's OK."

  I opened my eyes, saw smoke, flashes of white light and...oh, God. Oh...God.

  All sounds disappeared, all fear disappeared. I heard bullets but they might as well be pellet guns.

  Kayla.

  Her head on the ground, blood trickling from her nose down her cheek to the wooden floor. Her eyes closed. Skin pale. Shirt drenched in blood.

  And then I really screamed. I screamed so high and wild and crazy and I stretched my shaking hands to her beautiful pale face. "Kayla! Kayla! Kayla!"

  I grabbed her, pulled her to me. She felt cold, so cold. My hand landed on her blood, all over her tank top, by her stomach. I howled wildly. Fraught and paralyzed by dreadful fear. "Kayla! Kaylaaaaa!"

  Men were shouting, howling, bullets firing.


  I yowled and cried and—

  Some motherfucker lifted me up and bear hugged me and—!

  "Fuck you!" I cried, hooking my foot under his knee so he couldn't lift me. He tried, but I had him. I grabbed his hand, the one holding his wrist, twisted his index finger up and pulled!

  The guy screamed. Then I slammed my platform heel down on his foot and felt a crunch of broken bone. That fucker fell. I didn't stop. I turned, lifted my knee into his nose and blood spattered onto my clothes as his head flung back and he landed on his back. I slammed my foot into his nuts.

  Kayla!

  The room was filled with smoke. I coughed, bent down.

  Oh, Kayla, Kayla baby! I grabbed her feet, started dragging her out. Looked for my cell phone to call help but... What if these were cops? "Trey! Trey!" I screamed.

  "Leora, get everyone outside! Go! Go! Go!" His voice had come from a distant corner.

  A hand landed on my leg! Grabbed me! Pulled me back!

  I flipped over, fired my heel into the man's nose and felt it crush. I got up. Pumped my knee into his jaw, saw a tooth fall on the ground. He was out. Two down, assholes.

  I got Kayla out into the entranceway. Blood trailed in a long, thick streak behind her. I swallowed a lump. Alex was already there. Trey and Brad kept shouting and firing.

  I heard two more shots and then silence, only the sound of my breaths. I put my finger to my lips, telling Alex to stay quiet. More blood came out of Kayla's nose, poured out of somewhere on her torso. Where? Her stomach? I wanted to cry, wanted to cry so badly.

  A man through the door! He pointed his rifle at me and I, from crouched position, grabbed it and pulled it toward my body, getting it close to me but pointing it at the windows just as Trey had shown me. He fired! The bullet went out the window and it smashed! I elbowed him, yanked the gun forward and out his hand. Turned! He was holding his nose. I slammed the rifle's butt against his head once, twice, again, another time, slam.

  "No, stop!" he cried.

  There was silence.

  I turned the rifle, saw Kayla's bloody body on my left, cocked it. There was an eternal pause as I argued with myself whether to pull the trigger.

  But someone else did first. I saw his head crack open and blood spatter the white wall behind him as well as the carpet below. And then all hell broke loose. Bullets flew past my head!

  The momentary silence had been a ruse, a standoff, the room too smoky for anyone willing to shoot again. But now they fired, and they fired in my direction! I ducked! Got on my hands and knees and crawled under the smoke. Saw one guy. Fired once at his feet! Hit him! He fell, aimed his gun at me—

  Bam! The shot had come from behind me. Alex. I nodded. Thanked her by blinking once.

  Silence again...

  My breaths sounded like Niagara Falls. I held them briefly.

  "Leora?" It was the quivering voice of Trey. I said nothing, waited.

  "T—Trey?"

  "Leora, I think we have them all. Where are you?"

  I stood up.

  They'd smoked the room up good. That's probably what had helped us. "Trey, I'm here. Trey, Kayla. They got Kayla!"

  "Oh, fuck!"

  He ran into the entrance where I'd dragged Kayla's body. Trey looked her over, felt her pulse. "She's alive," he said.

  My legs caved.

  And that's when I started crying.

  "Leora, stay with me. It looks like the bullet went through her waist here. She's just in shock, passed out. I need you to apply pressure here!"

  I did as he said.

  "Trey!" It was Brad's voice, still in the lounge.

  "In here!"

  The smoke in the room was clearing. When he saw Kayla, his face bleached.

  Trey immediately spoke. "She's alive, Brad! But we need to leave now!"

  -2-

  Trey hooked a siren to the roof of his SUV and we drove like maniacs. It took a half an hour but when we got to the safe-house—a place out in the country and deeply covered by surrounding trees—Dr. Gehrig was there with a team of people ready to take care of Kayla. There was an underground clinic with enough equipment to care for all major injuries.

  "Perk of the job," said Trey. "Conall's here, if you want to see him."

  I nodded, saw Brad and Alex hugging in the white hallway. Brad's head was on her shoulder and she was consoling him. Looking at the walls and ceiling I suddenly understood why Conall's phone reception had been so bad. Fucking asshole.

  I was pissed.

  The two most important people in the world to me—Conall and Kayla—were both here, in this hospital, fighting for their lives.

  This. Had. To. Stop.

  No more.

  Enough!

  What was the point of being with Conall if it endangered the lives of the ones I loved? Including his own!

  It was the first time I considered leaving him. Not because I didn't love him. But because I loved him so much. He needed to stop. He needed to let go! Life is for the living, not the dead. As callous as it might seem to say that about his sister, he had to let it go!

  I understood, as well, why he'd wanted to leave me the last time I'd been in the hospital. I understood why he'd felt it best, for my own safety. Because that's how I felt now. It's better knowing that someone you love is still alive, and that you're not with them, than knowing the reason they died was because you stayed. I had a feeling that, if I stayed with Conall, he'd carry on. He'd carry on taking his drug of wanting to avenge the death of his sister.

  All I knew was that my own sister, the one person who'd stood by my side and helped me through all the difficult things I'd ever been through, was lying in a hospital room, bleeding, passed out from shock. Alive only through luck.

  Conall was sitting up in his hospital bed when he saw me.

  "Leora!" His eyes expressed the shock attendant upon seeing someone covered in blood. He tried to move and I saw his painful grimace as his hand shot to his broken ribs. He had the remnants of a blue eye, some cuts and scrapes on his face.

  "It's not me. It's Kayla. She..." I looked away. "She was shot. At your house. Conall, this needs to stop. This needs to end. I can't..." I started crying. I was going to say it. I was. There was no turning back. "This is your drug, Conall. You need to let it go. I can't... If it's me, I don't care. But if it's you. And if it's my friend..." I wasn't even looking at him. "I'm sorry. I can't be with you anymore. I can't. I just can't."

  I turned, walked out.

  Conall didn't even call me back.

  I think he knew he couldn't give it up. This was his Meth, his crack-cocaine.

  Oh, the fucking sick irony of it.

  I went out into the pristine hallway, heard the doctors and nurses screaming and calling out inside the emergency room where Kayla was being treated.

  Then I heard the long, constant beep of death.

  Kayla!

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  -1-

  Kayla 'died' three times on that hospital bed before her body finally stopped panicking and going into shock and then started doing its job of keeping her heart beating for her. That's how Dr. Gehrig would explain it to me later. A little simplistic, but I knew he'd done that for my benefit so as to not confuse me with all the medical mumbo jumbo. Finally, they stopped having to resuscitate her and could actually treat her wounds. The bullet went straight through the side of her torso, hitting no vital organs. Three of her fingers were broken, so was her nose. Apparently someone had stood on her.

  Christ damn it. I was so pissed.

  My mind swirled. I saw red. I admit, I wasn't thinking rationally.

  I stormed across the hallway to Trey. "You have to get him to stop," I said. "You have to! He's going to lose everyone he loves that is still alive—"

  "Leora, it's over." I turned to see Conall, hand on his ribs. "I promise. They were onto me. I—"

  I stormed over to him, slammed the bottom of my fist against his chest. "You almost killed my best friend!" I crie
d. "You almost killed her!" He grimaced in pain.

  I felt big arms around me, circling me. I slammed my elbows back, saw Brad. "Leora, calm down," he said.

  "I'm not going to fucking calm down! My best friend is in there!"

  "And she's fine!" Brad said.

  "So what? Who's next?" I turned to Conall. "Hey, Conall? Who the fuck is next? When is it enough!? We're alive. You and I and Brad and Alex are alive! Let it go!"

  I clutched at my hair, cried out in frustration, stormed outside.

  -2-

  I sat on a cold bench by the brick-walled house. The grounds were surrounded by a colossal lawn speckled with birches and maples. Ironically peaceful. The only sound was that of crickets rubbing their wings and of rustling leaves. A brittle wind gave me goosebumps.

  Conall walked outside in a robe and slippers, sat next to me. His cuts glowed from the moonlight and also from the dim-lit yellow lights under the eaves.

  "It's done," he said. "It's over. I called the press. Story runs tomorrow. The names of the men involved, those cops. And there are others, higher up. And one big man at the top. A senator. I had no idea how far this went.

  "Leora, before I went to the states I had a feeling those thugs who'd taken you were somehow connected to Vivienne's death. I wanted to leave it. I did. But I was afraid for you. Somehow I knew they'd come for you again. Or for me. Or Kayla. Any of us. Not the thugs themselves, the guys at the top. That was the connection. The punks themselves knew nothing of it. As much as I wanted to bring justice to my sister's killers, I was willing to let it go because of you.

  "But this name kept popping up. I couldn't believe it. I needed evidence. His name was connected to your kidnapping—in a very circumstantial way, nothing I could use—as well as with Vivienne's death. I didn't have all the pieces. I struggled to believe it myself. That's what I was doing in the states. When they took me, I couldn't finish. But our inside guy there did the rest for us. I got the evidence I needed today. And my hunch became solid fact.